Reid Between the Lines
by CaptainSwan123
Summary: Amelia was just an average graduate student working on her master's, when she was attacked in her home. She was lucky enough to call 911 in time and the police chased the suspect away. Now the FBI is here and wants her help catching the man whose responsible for 8 murders.
1. Chapter 1

"Ms. Rosen, I'd like to conduct a cognitive interview with you, if you don't mind?" It was the dark-haired, serious looking agent who spoke to me. They were all pretty serious looking, but to be fair, it was a pretty serious situation.

I numbly bobbed my head once, starring vacantly at the floor of my apartment and biting at a hangnail on my thumb. Then I tilted my head slightly and stuttered out, "Wh-what is…what is that, exactly?"

I heard someone clearing their throat and looked up, letting my hand fall away from my mouth and into my lap, where its partner began picking at the hangnail in lieu of my teeth. I blinked hard to try to force my eyes into focusing on the people in front of me. They had introduced themselves, but I was in too much of a fog to remember their names.

The dark-haired agent who first addressed me was all angles. He had a deep-set mouth that made him look grim and his eyebrows were low and straight, giving him a determinedly fierce look. He had a rather basic crew cut hairstyle, which mixed with his official-looking suit and altogether serious ambiance, worked to heighten his quality of authority.

The man who had cleared his throat just barely qualified as a man. He looked as young as me, if not younger; that was to say, college-aged. His hair was also in somewhat of a crew cut, but it was a bit longer and it curled at the edges, giving it a purposefully unruly look. Just like the serious-looking man, the younger man was wearing a nice button down shirt and a tie, but instead of a suit jacket, he sported a sweater vest.

Both of the men were looking at me expectantly and I realized two things at once: the younger one had said something to me that I had missed and I had brought my thumb back up to my mouth to try to bite off the hangnail again. I jerked my hand away from my face and sat on both of my hands to squash my nervous habit.

Sighing, I shook my head once before sheepishly admitting, "I'm sorry, I missed that."

The agents exchanged a look.

"Sometimes when people undergo traumatic events, their minds repress certain details to protect itself. We use cognitive interviews as a sensory-based method of recalling those details that you might not be able to picture right now," the younger one explained. The way his voice lilted over his sentences, starting off higher in the beginning and quickly tumbling into a deeper pitch and lower volume somehow gave off a very confident and well-informed vibe. It established credibility and I found myself unquestioningly trusting him.

"Oh, okay," I nodded a few more times as I processed the information. "Are you going to, like, hypnotize me?"

"No," the serious agent responded quickly. "All we ask is that you close your eyes and try to imagine what was happening right before the intruder came in. What were you doing?"

"I was working on homework," I answered as my eyes fluttered closed, sounding unsure even to myself.

"Okay, now picture yourself doing your homework," the serious agent said. "Where were you sitting?"

"At the table," I opened my eyes to point across the small living room at the table in question.

The serious agent glanced over at the table.

"Ms. Rosen," the younger agent began. He waited until I looked over at him to continue, "For this interview to work properly, you're going to have to relax. Lean back and really picture yourself doing these things, then just narrate to us what's happening."

I took a deep breath in and when I exhaled, I forced my muscles to relax and let myself sink into my couch. I even tilted my head back slightly on the back of the couch.

"Very good," came the whimsical voice of the younger agent from across the coffee table in front of me. "You were working on homework at the table. What homework were you doing?"

I pictured myself sitting at the table. "Advanced Organic Chemistry. I was analyzing IR and NMR spectra from some lab work I did on Tuesday as a part of my Masters research. I was getting really frustrated because my spectra weren't matching the melting points I had collected. I remember taking my glasses off and resting my forehead on the table because I was getting a headache from concentrating on the small print. That's when I heard it."

"What did you hear, Ms. Rosen?"

"The screen door opening. I can always tell when someone's about to knock on the door because they open the screen door first, but this time there's no knock. I remember feeling a tingle go down my spine. Why aren't they knocking? I stand up to look through the peep hole, but wait- my glasses. I turn back, grab my glasses off the table and there's a loud thud. The person at the door is trying to get in," I felt my palms get sweaty. There was a small part of my brain that knew this was just a memory, but I'm locked in the fear I had experienced in real life only an hour or two ago.

"What happens next? Is he in the apartment, yet?"

I felt my head shake, but my closed eyes are still seeing the shaking door in my memory. "No, he's still outside. Kicking at it, I think, but he isn't strong enough to break it down. Thank God I just got the chain replaced. There's another thud, this one is louder. I think he's almost inside. I'm run to the bathroom. I lock it just as I hear a crashing. He's inside. He's going to kill me," my breathing turned erratic and I could hear my heart thumping.

"Ms. Rosen, you aren't in any danger," a deeper voice than before said. The serious agent. It reminded me that I wasn't actually locked in the bathroom. My breathing evened out and I nodded once. The agent continued, "You locked yourself in the bathroom, is that when you called 911?"

"Yes," I answered confidently. The question triggered something, though. "Oh," I suddenly heard a whisper of a voice that terrified me and my eyes fling open.

"What is it, Ms. Rosen?" The serious agent asked gently.

"He told me to," I whispered, my eyes flickering between the two men in front of me, as they well with tears of fear. "As he was banging on the door, he was yelling."

The agents exchanged another look before simultaneously leaning closer to me. The dark haired agent's serious gaze held mine, "What did he say, Ms. Rosen?"

I squeezed my eyes shut as a tear ran down my cheek and repeated the words that I had blocked out of my mind, "Wanna play a game? Call 911. Let's see if the cops can get here in time to save you. If they come in time, you win. If not, you die. So far I'm 8 for 8, so don't get your hopes up."

"Are you sure those are the exact words he said?"

I looked at the dark haired man and felt tears start to stream out of my now opened eyes. I nodded once, not trusting my voice.

"Thank you, Ms. Rosen. I'm sure you didn't want to remember that, but it will help us find him," he said determinedly. He slid a box of tissues closer to me and I tried to stop the flow of tears. "Do you think you can continue, to see if there's anything else that might help us?"

I let out a shaky sigh, "Not much else happened. The cops got here right as he kicked the bathroom door in. But if you think, it'll help," I let my voice trail off.

The serious agent nodded once and I sighed again before closing my eyes once more.

"I called 911 and told the operator there was someone in my apartment," my voice was thick with tears, but I did my best to keep it even. "He stayed quiet the whole time he was in my apartment. For a while, I- it's stupid, but for a while I thought he had left. Then I heard the bathroom door handle rattling. He was trying to get inside. After a few tries, he started knocking lightly. I plugged both my curling iron and straightener on and hung them from a towel hook just inside the door, hoping he'd burn himself if he got in. The knocking got louder and I climbed into the tub with a can of hairspray. I just wanted to get as far away from him as possible."

"And what was the hairspray for?" The younger agent asked.

"Self defense. If he got in, I was going to spray it in his eyes and try to run."

There was a beat of silence in which I was stuck, frozen with fear and crouched in the bathtub in my mind's eye, before the serious agent said, "So you're in the tub with your hairspray. Can you still hear him knocking?"

"Yes," I nodded my head. "Only it's much louder now. Almost like he's banging on the door. The way it sounded right before he broke into my apartment. Oh my god, he's going to kick down the door again. What if my plan doesn't work and he doesn't get burned and the hairspray doesn't blind him?"

"He won't get you, Ms. Rosen. He isn't here," the serious one said. "What happens when he breaks the door down?"

"I hear a clatter and he hisses sort of like he's in pain. He must have burned his arm like I hoped and I'm preparing myself to jump out of the tub and make a run for it but there's another commotion. Footsteps and shouting," my breathing had gotten heavy again in the adrenaline rush.

"The police," the younger agent surmised.

"Okay, Ms. Rosen, you can open your eyes now," I opened them to see the dark haired agent smiling slightly. Well, he was more not-frowning than smiling. "Thank you, you've helped us quite a bit with what you remember."

"Really?" I felt my eyebrows pinch together. I wiped under my nose with the tissue. "I didn't feel helpful, at all."

"Actually, you gave us a lot to go off of," the younger agent stated matter-of-factly. "We know more about how the unsub thinks based on what he said to you. We also now know that he has had 8 victims when we previously only knew of 5. And most importantly, we know to look for someone suffering from a recent burn on their upper body. Using your hair equipment was a rather ingenious plan."

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up a little at his formal way of talking and heard the serious agent let out a huff of a laugh.

"What?" The younger agent innocently questioned, glancing between the agent and myself.

I shook my head slightly, "Nothing, really, it's just… you called it 'hair equipment.'"

"Oh," was all he said for a moment, looking at the floor. Then he blinked rapidly a few times and looked back at me, "I don't see the humor."

His naivety was adorable and actually coerced an amused half-smile from me, even as the tears continued to gather in the corner of my eyes. I was surprised that I could smile in a time like this.

"Hotch," a voice to my left called, reminding me that the serious looking agent had identified himself as Agent Hotchner to me. I turned to see a pair of agents walking through my doorway where men were working to attach a new door. The man who spoke was African American and dominatingly handsome. The woman behind him seemed somewhat exotic with the startling contrast between her pale skin and jet black hair.

Agent Hotchner excused himself and walked a few feet away with the two new agents, where they began speaking in hushed, somber tones. I turned to look at the younger agent. He was already looking at me.

"Any idea what that's about?" I tilted my head towards the huddle of authority standing in my tiny kitchen. My hand lifted to my mouth again of its own accord and I gave into the habit, attempting to bite the hangnail off once and for all.

I had never cared about the size of my apartment before now. With two bedrooms, a bathroom, living room and kitchen, it was the perfect size for me and my roommate who were just trying to get through college. But looking around at the dozen or so people trying to shift around each other to collect crime scene photos, or whatever, had me a bit self-conscious.

"They're probably just updating him on the case," he stated, glancing over at his coworkers for a few seconds. Then he met my eye again, "Picking or biting at the skin around your nails is a nervous habit that, if allowed to spiral, can lead to a disorder called excoriation or dermatillomania, more commonly. It can be caused by anxiety or depression or both. People who suffer from dermatillomania pick at hangnails so often that they start to bleed and scab over and then they pick at those scabs, too. It's actually related to obsessive compulsion disorder."

I instantly shoved my hand back under my leg, eyes wide with worry, "I have a disorder?"

"No," his eyebrows knit together like he didn't understand why I had asked that. Then they shot up and his eyes widened, "I didn't mean that you had dermatillomania. You were just displaying a nervous tic, not signs of a disorder. I apologize if I sounded like I was diagnosing you, I was just merely stating facts."

"Oh," I let a sigh out. "No don't worry about it. I've never heard of that disorder before, where'd you learn that?"

He shrugged one shoulder and looked down sheepishly, "I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything I read."

"You remember everything?" The incredulity in my voice had him looking up at me in surprise.

"It's mostly related to things I read," his voice ended in a higher pitch than it began, almost like he was unsure of his own words. Like he was used to people seeing this as a fault and therefore tried to downplay it.

"'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,'" I quoted as a challenge.

"I'm sorry, what?" The striking woman asked with her dark eyebrows pulled together.

I turned to see that the three agents had walked over to us. I blushed and looked away from their confused and questioning faces.

"It's the first sentence of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen," the younger agent clarified. Then he turned to me and quoted, "'However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.'"

I felt a grin of awe slowly steal its way across my face. Aware of the other agents, I tried to reign in my amazement. My head tilted slightly to the side as I examined the brilliant young man in front of me. Before my brain had a chance to stop my mouth, I breathed out, "Amazing."

Someone cleared their throat. I glanced away from Dr. Reid's embarrassed looking smile and met Agent Hotchner's gaze, "Ms. Rosen, we have reason to believe that this isn't over. This man will try to come back and finish what he started."

Reality came crashing in around me. A man had broken into my house and the FBI thought he was going to try it again. I started blinking rapidly to try to keep the tears at bay, "He's going to try to kill me, isn't he? He's not going to stop until he does."

"We won't let that happen," the woman interjected.

"Ms. Rosen, these are Special Agents Morgan and Prentiss," Agent Hotchner introduced them with a small gesture towards each as he identified them. "They work with Dr. Reid and I at the BAU, the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We have three other teammates and I assure you that not a single one of us will rest until we make sure this man is put away and you are safe."

His words had their intended effect, I was already calming down somewhat. It was still terrifying to know that there was a man out there who wanted to kill me for some unknown reason, but it helped to know there was a whole team of FBI agents working to keep me safe.

"In order to do that, though, we might need your help," Agent Morgan said, crossing his arms as if he didn't like admitting that.

I nodded my head vigorously, using the comfort their presence brought me to try to build my courage. "I'll help in whatever way I can. My roommate gets back from her semester abroad in two weeks. I won't put her in danger," my voice sounded steely even to myself. Feeling pain in my palm, I immediately loosed my fist which I had instinctively curled in anger.

"That's very brave of you, Ms. Rosen, but perhaps you should hear our idea before you agree to anything. What we're asking of you isn't easy and we don't have any expectations of you. We fully understand if you aren't comfortable with what we ask," Agent Hotchner warned.

Before I could respond, the woman- Agent Prentiss- laid a friendly hand on my shoulder and said, "I don't know, Hotch. She's not just brave, she's strong. She's a fighter. I believe she can do this."

There was a warmth behind her words. A warmth that took root in my chest somewhere, but the chill of fear that hadn't completely thawed out, yet, stopped it from spreading. Still, I aimed a weak smile up at the woman standing beside me.

"Regardless," Agent Hotchner's eyes narrowed slightly at Agent Prentiss for undermining him, before they cut to me and softened slightly. "We'll need to bring you back to the local police station where we're set up to brief you on the case and our proposal. Whether you agree to help or not, we'll at least be able to set up a security detail for you and allow time for your doors to be reinstalled while we're there."

I nodded my head numbly. It was all starting to become too much. Too much emotion, too much information, too much crying. My head throbbed.

My hand shot up to my temple in an attempt to assuage the headache.

"Water," the soft voice of Dr. Reid broke the silence. "She needs water and aspirin."

"By my bed," came my monotone reply and my head swam as I stood to retrieve the items. Agent Prentiss' hand on my shoulder pushed me gently back down to the couch.

I looked pleadingly up at her, but her face- though kind- was firm. My eyes jumped to Dr. Reid.

He nodded once, "I'll get them."

I stared at the worn edges of my coffee table once again. Only a small fraction of my brain was embarrassed as he walked towards the hallway. Even though I had bigger things to worry about, I couldn't help but think of the Star Wars comforter I had bought in the children's section of Walmart and the bras I had hanging out to dry from this morning's load of laundry. Not to mention the stack of overly cheesy romance novels sitting on my night stand.

I sighed heavily, then chastised myself for worrying about such trivial things while a mass murderer had a target painted on my back. A frown tugged at my lips at that thought, before a shiver wracked through my body.

"Shock," I heard Agent Prentiss mutter softly- to who, I didn't really care enough to figure out. Her hand left my shoulder, "I'll find her a coat or something. And a change of clothes for the station."

Footsteps. I looked up from the table to see Dr. Reid and Agent Prentiss squeezing past each other in the doorway to my bedroom. The other agents had moved away from me again, although there wasn't much space to be put between us in my small apartment. Agent Morgan listened attentively to Agent Hotchner's side of a phone conversation, both men had a hand resting lightly on their holstered weapon- an unconscious behavior. One built in a life of danger and life or death situations.

I quickly averted my eyes, not wanting to linger on that subject of thought.

Dr. Reid had my reusable water bottle in one hand, the other turned upwards, but with the fingers curled closed. He bypassed the chair he had been sitting in earlier and rounded the coffee table to sit beside me on the couch. Slowly, he extended the closed hand, as if he were trying not to scare a wounded animal.

My lips twitched in amusement at the thought. I held out my hand, palm up, and accepted the pills he dropped into it. It wasn't until I chased the medicine down with the water that I realized how thirsty I was.

I greedily took a large gulp of water, but was stopped by Dr. Reid as he lightly pulled the bottle away from my mouth.

"What are you doing?" I complained, more shocked than anything else. "I'm thirsty."

For such a lean man, Dr. Reid was surprisingly strong. He managed to wrest the bottle from my grasp with very little effort. "You're in shock," was his offered excuse.

"I thought so," the proximity of Agent Prentiss' voice startled me. I hadn't realized she was back from my room, let alone so close. Before I could respond, I felt a weight on my shoulders.

I glanced up at her to see her eyebrows pinched in worry. Something tugged on my hand. I looked down. It was Agent Prentiss, she was trying to coerce my arm into a coat sleeve- my coat's sleeve. Which was what she had settled on my shoulders.

I tried to shake away whatever fog was starting to cloud my mind.

Muscle memory kicked in and I shoved both arms into their sleeves and deftly buttoned up the front of the coat, popping up the collar as I suddenly noticed just how cold I was. The high today had been 38 degrees Fahrenheit, but with the sun down and no front door, it must have been around 20 in my apartment.

I nodded at Agent Prentiss in gratitude, before turning back to Dr. Reid, "Why no water?"

"When you go into shock, your organs start to shut down. One of the first is the digestive system," he said, by way of explanation.

"English, Reid," Agent Prentiss demanded in a joking tone. They seemed to typically refer to each other by last name, without the title of Agent or Doctor in front of it. Agents Prentiss and Morgan had even gone so far as to use a nick name of Agent Hotchner's last name- Hotch.

I looked up at her and translated, "I'd just vomit it back up."

Her eyes, which had been turned to Dr. Reid in expectation of a response, shot to me in surprise. I watched as her mouth opened once, twice- unsure how to respond. She inhaled a large breath, then she closed her lips and let the air expel from between them. My eyebrows shot up in amusement from her small puff of shock.

I glanced over at Dr. Reid to see if he was also confused by her action, but he was looking at me with his head angled and his eyebrows furrowed. It felt like I was a puzzle he was trying- and failing- to solve. I looked back over to Agent Prentiss, instead.

"I've never met anyone who spoke Reid," she explained, using his name as if it were the name of some foreign language. She glanced between the two of us for a few seconds before shrugging. "I grabbed you a change of clothes. Would you like to change here or at the station?"

My first thought was changing in the bathroom, my eyes landing on the broken door, and I shook my head rapidly. She turned her head to follow my line of sight.

Agent Prentiss lowered herself on the couch beside me. I felt more comfortable sandwiched between the two FBI agents, but I couldn't look away from the bathroom and it was giving me a terrible feeling. Ice slid slowly down my spine even as I huddled in my coat.

"Hey," she softly laid her hand on top of the two of mine, where they rested in my lap. At the contact, my eyes snapped to hers and the icy feeling slowed to a stop. "It doesn't have to be there and it doesn't have to be alone. We can go in your room; I'll turn my back. Or we can wait until we get to the station."

A gust of wind blew through the open doorway and danced around my ankles, chilling my legs through my flimsy pajama pants.

I shook my head and took a deep breath of determination. I won't be afraid in my own home ever again, I told myself, hoping if I said it enough it would be true.

Without responding, I stood. As her hand fell from my lap, Agent Prentiss took my cue and stood as well. She turned and led me around the coffee table and into my bedroom. A stack of clothes was on my bed, presumably what Agent Prentiss had been referring to.

I waited until I heard the door click shut and then I started to change into the pants and sweater she had picked out. I wasn't really focusing on the act, just frantically going through the motions, because even as I tried to hold onto the comfort I had felt surrounded by agents just a few seconds earlier, not having an agent in my line of sight was a terrifying feeling. I knew logically that Agent Prentiss was behind me, but the illogical part of my brain was telling me it was him behind me. That he was back to finish the job.

I shook my head and forced myself to move faster.

As I shoved my arms into the sleeves, a small part of my brain registered that Agent Prentiss had miraculously chosen my favorite sweater. It was loosely knitted and made of thick, blue wool with specks of red and tan in it. Probably the most comfortable thing I owned.

I spun around as I was buttoning my jeans, eager to once again feel the comfort and safety that being in a room full of agents had brought me.

"Okay," I said hastily, pulling one boot on and reaching for the other. "You can turn around."

Agent Prentiss did without comment, seeming to hear the panic in my voice. She smiled sympathetically and then surprised me, by walking over to my closet and pulling my box of beanies, scarves and mittens from the shelf.

"Saw these when I was looking for your coat," she explained.

As I zipped up both boots and tugged my coat back on, Agent Prentiss pulled out a beanie and matching scarf. Before she could dig around for mittens, I pulled a pair out from my coat pocket.

"Always be prepared," I muttered as an explanation, pulling them on.

She handed me the beanie and scarf, before turning to put the box away, "Isn't that the Boy Scout motto?"

"I had a cousin who was a Boy Scout for 12 years," I answered, wrapping the scarf around my neck and tucking the ends into my coat. I looked into the mirror to situate my hair under the beanie.

"That should keep you nice and warm," she nodded in approval. Then she walked to the door and started to lead me out.

My hands instinctively tucked themselves into my coat pocket and I felt suddenly very aware of the absence of my phone.

"I don't remember where I put my phone," I called out, turning to survey the room.

A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped. My heart raced, even as I glanced over my shoulder to see that it was just Agent Prentiss. Her eyes shone with compassion and she mercifully didn't mention the scare.

"It's out there on the coffee table," she said softly and gestured for me to walk in front of her to the living room.

As I entered the living room, I saw that most of the room had cleared out. The two guys who had been working on installing a new front door were now working on a new bathroom door. Even though I averted my eyes from that room as quickly as possible, I could see that the agents who had been processing the evidence in there were now gone. And only Dr. Reid remained of the BAU members who I had met so far.

He stood in front of the bookshelf that was built into the wall on the apartment and housed not only books, but also our TV, movies and a few empty notebooks waiting to be used. His lips moved silently, reading the titles of the books to himself, I supposed. In his hands, he fiddled with a pen, rotating it expertly around his fingers.

I headed over to the coffee table to grab my phone and saw Agent Prentiss walk over to Dr. Reid. In the tiny space of my apartment, I could almost make out their hushed conversation. She was probably telling him about my heightened nerves and maybe it was a good thing for a doctor to know that.

My finger hovered over the home button as I tried to make a decision. If I called my parents to tell them now, I'd only start crying again. But shouldn't they know? Didn't they have a right to know?

I stared at my reflection in the black screen. The puffy eyes, the red nose. If I called them now, I would have an even harder time focusing and I wanted to do whatever I could to help the FBI catch this man, so I could have a chance at feeling safe again. Not yet.

I pocketed the phone.

"Ms. Rosen," Agent Prentiss called gently. Trying not to startle me again, probably.

I lifted my head to look at her and saw Dr. Reid standing close behind her- both worried. I tried to smile to ease their concern, "Please, call me Amelia."

Agent Prentiss smiled in return, but the worry didn't leave her eyes. "We're ready to go now, Amelia. Hoth and Morgan went ahead to brief the others. Reid and I will drive you to the station, if that's okay."

I nodded my consent, then took in a large breath to steady myself before asking, "Agent Prentiss, do you know if anyone's called my parents?"

"Actually, in this type of situation where the victim is no longer a minor, found conscious and doesn't require medical attention, it's left up to him or her to call any kin," Dr. Reid informed me, matter-of-factly.

Agent Prentiss turned to him with a small smirk on her face, "Thank you, Agent Prentiss."

Dr. Reid mumbled something under his breath, but found the floor suddenly very intriguing as his cheeks colored.

"And you can call me Emily," this was directed at me. My eyes shot to hers and I saw compassion in them once more. And there was that warmth again in my chest, only this time it spread and pulled the corners of my smile even wider.

Being an only child, I didn't know what it felt like to have a sister, but I imagined it felt a little like this. Like there was someone who was watching your back, even if you did nothing to deserve it. Like there was someone who would offer you comfort and kindness, even without having to ask for it. It felt nice.

"Everyone on the team calls me Reid, without the doctor, so you can do that too, if you'd like. Or Dr. Spencer Reid. Or just Spencer, although not very many people call me that. Actually, sometimes JJ calls me 'Spence,' but she's the only one. Not that you can't. You haven't met JJ, yet. She's a part of the team. She's at the station with the rest of them right now," Dr. Reid rambled until Emily gently touched his elbow.

My smile was officially a grin now, teeth and all.

"Spencer Reid Without the Doctor," I made a show of playfully considering the name before nodding in approval. "I like it"

That earned me an amused smile from Emily and a shy one from Spencer.

"Alright, you two," Emily admonished with a chuckle. "Hotch is waiting on us."

They led me out to a black SUV, where the two agents sat up front with Emily behind the wheel. I absentmindedly watched her ponytail swing as we hit a pothole and prepared myself for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello All! Thanks for reading! I just wanted to set some things straight before we get much further into the story:**

 **I imagine this as like season 3 CM. It's the OG crew (well, MY version of OG- Hotch, Rossi, Reid, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ and Garcia) and they're all relatively young (minus Rossi) and soft, still.**

 **My Reid is like Season 2 Reid, with those half-rimmed glasses and his hair parted adorably, looking all sexily nerdy (I have a specific image in mind but it won't let me post the link so PM me if you'd like me to send you the link to you).**

 **Anyway, shoutout to finnmeg and Nerdy-Country-Girl89 for the reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter...**

When we walked into the station, a blonde woman with kind eyes offered me coffee to warm me up. Spencer shook his head and answered for me, "She's in shock."

Embarrassed, I rolled my eyes to distract from my blush. "I've already had 6 cups today, so I should probably lay off, anyway."

"Six cups," Emily exclaimed, taking the proffered cup from the other woman. "They aren't kidding when they say college students live off coffee and ramen, are they?"

The blonde woman smiled indulgently at Emily, before extending her hand to me. "I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ."

I pulled my right mitten off to shake her hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Amelia," I released her hand to tug off the other mitten and deposited them both in my coat pocket. My beanie soon followed suit and then my fingers made quick work of my coat buttons.

"Right this way, Amelia," JJ gestured down a hall. It led away from the desks full of police officers with her hand, palm up. The four of us walked down a hallway decorated with framed pictures of officers. I tugged my coat off, folding it over the crook of my arm and hugging it to my chest like a protective blanket. "We have a room set up in the back, where the rest of the team is waiting."

After passing a few doors, we rounded a corner. I was surprised to see Agent Hotchner standing outside a pair of opaque double doors. I could make out the blurred figures of at least two people sitting down in the room behind him.

"Ms. Rosen," Agent Hotchner began and my ensemble stopped a few feet from him and the room behind him. "We normally don't allow anyone outside of our team and the policemen helping us to see the workings of our case. However, this one time we need to make an exception. I do need to warn you, first, that what you'll see in there isn't easy to look at. As part of our method for solving cases we surround ourselves with evidence, including pictures of crime scenes and victims. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I took a shaky breath, "I believe so. There's going to be some gory pictures. Of what could have happened to me. Of what already happened to someone else."

Agent Hotchner nodded. "If at any time these images become too much for you, you're free to step out of the room. I ask that you take someone with you to help you talk through it. Ms. Rosen, you don't have to do this."

"I want to," my voice cracked. I swallowed, "I need to."

"Hey," JJ laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and fixed me with those kind eyes. "We'll be with you the whole time. We won't let anything happen to you and if you need to, you can pull me aside. Okay? You're not alone."

I nodded in appreciation and glanced back at Emily- searching for support, maybe. She smiled calmly and walked forward to place her hand on my other shoulder. Sandwiched between the two women, I closed my eyes for a moment to steady my heartbeat. Then I looked back up at Agent Hotchner and nodded once.

He pulled the door open and I stepped out from Emily and JJ's hands, into the room. It had a long table in the middle, half of which was covered in folder files, papers and photos. Agent Morgan and an older man were sitting at this end of the table, but they both stood as I entered.

I only took a few steps in, leaving enough room for the people behind me to enter, as well. There were white boards with images on them and different handwritings underneath. I decidedly skipped over them, not letting myself focus on the images. I focused on the blank TV screen that was straight ahead of me on the opposite wall, instead.

But I wouldn't be any help if I cowered from this. I hugged my coat tighter to my chest and held my breath.

My eyes flitted to the white board closest to me. 'Vic 1' was written neatly and a column of photos and words were organized beneath it. A picture of a young woman, smiling, with her hair curled and her makeup done; it looked like a profile picture on social media. A name under that: Sandra Porter. A picture of this same young woman, but now blood soaked and laying on the ground. Her arms and legs sprawled out beneath her; her eyes starring at something past the camera lens.

I glanced away, releasing the breath I had been holding.

I felt light pressure on both of my shoulders. I glanced to my side to see JJ there, one arm draped across my back. Her hands were resting on either of my shoulders so that she almost held me to her side.

"I'm okay," I said. I glanced around to see everyone was watching me, waiting to see if I could handle it or not.

My gaze turned back to the first board. I continued across the board, only looking at the pictures of these women when they were alive and then reading their names. I didn't need to see each of them dead.

The first board only held 3. I sent a small smile to reassure JJ, before stepping away from her to approach the other board. I did the same with this board, but felt my heart stutter when I came across my own face.

There I was, under 'Vic 6.' My face smiling, my hair falling over my shoulders- my Facebook profile picture. I only had the one picture and a name, thankfully. No gory picture of my death to follow.

I turned back around, realizing I had walked completely inside the room. I met Agent Hotchner's eyes where he stood a foot inside the door. He didn't seem surprised that I wasn't falling apart, that I could meet his gaze and hold it without wavering. He seemed to think I was strong enough to handle this. And earlier, Emily had gone as far as to stand up to him for me. I didn't want to prove them wrong. I could process this horrible evil that was creeping into my life in a positive way. I could focus on the light I could add to this world by helping in this investigation. My mind was made up; I was going to be strong enough.

"They all look like me," I finally said.

"We noticed that, too," Agent Morgan sat back down, in his seat. I must have passed some test and they were no longer concerned I'd faint or scream in terror, because the rest of them also took their seats around the table. Besides Agent Hotchner. "It's part of what we call Victimology."

Spencer pulled out the chair between him and Emily, and shot me a small smile, so I headed over and sat down. "The study of victims?"

Agent Morgan nodded, "It helps us understand why the unsub is doing what he's doing. We look at who he targets and what they have in common, so we can determine why he's driven target them specifically and what they mean to him. Once we know the why, we can start to figure out the who."

"Like backwards math," I mused aloud. "The unsub is the man who broke into my apartment?"

"In this case, yes," Spencer answered from beside me. I noticed that his musical way of talking helped to keep the darkness of the situation at bay, somehow. "Unsub is a shortened term we use for the suspect we're looking for. Unknown Subject."

"Okay, this unsub," I nodded at Spencer in appreciation, but then fixed my eyes on Agent Hotchner, where he stood. "How do we find him?"

"I like your gumption," a new voice piped in. I locked eyes with the older man I had glazed over earlier. He had dark hair that was graying at the temples. "I'm Agent Rossi, by the way. Shouldn't you be worrying about exams and boyfriends, instead of catching a serial killer? Don't get me wrong, I admire your bravery, but hunting down the bad guys isn't something you can try out for a few days and then go back to life like you knew it. Some of the things you see and hear might stay with you. You've got your whole life ahead of you still, kid."

"Only because of people like you who take the harder path to hunt down those bad guys," I pointed out. "I'm not saying I'm joining the FBI here and now. Definitely not when I'm only one semester away from my masters, but I can't back down now. If he got even one more girl, I couldn't live with myself knowing I didn't help. I might not even be of any real use to your invesitgation. But I couldn't face myself everyday if I hadn't done everything I could to make sure he can't hurt anyone ever again."

There was a moment of silence.

"Okay," Agent Hotchner finally sat at the head of the table. The atmosphere of the room changed. It felt determined, charged and inclusive. Familial. Like I was a part of this team, working to hunt down the bad guys, as Agent Rossi had put it. "This unsub is targeting blonde, Caucasian females between the ages of 21 and 25 with blue or green eyes. He enters their homes when they're alone, always by forced entry. This tells us that he has no real relationship with the women beforehand and that he isn't confident or social enough to earn entrance into their homes. He always attacks at night, which could be due to a daytime commitment, like a job or school or a family. When he kills them, it's always overkill and he's getting progressively more violent with each kill."

"The first victim," Agent Morgan picked up the narrative. "Sandra Porter, he stabbed 13 times in the abdomen. His latest victim, Helena Clemmons, he stabbed 42 times."

It took me a second to register that horrifying fact. My face must have shown my discomfort, because there was a weighted silence in the room. After a few moments, I cleared my throat and nodded once to show I was okay enough to continue.

"His MO remains the same," Spencer added in. "He kills by stabbing the abdominal area. Forensics has determined that he's using the same knife for each kill. Additionally, he takes a lock of the victim's hair each time and then leaves a piece of paper with the words "Game Over" hidden somewhere on the body."

"He asked me if I wanted to play a game," I blurted out, making the connection.

I saw Agent Morgan look at Agent Hotchner with a quizzical brow.

"We had been operating under the impression that he was a video game fanatic or worked at a video game store of some sort. Your cognitive interview does shed some more light on the signature he leaves, though," Agent Hotchner admitted,. "Ms. Rosen also told us that the unsub claimed that he was 8 for 8. So, we now have to assume that there are at least 3 more bodies out there that we haven't discovered, yet."

"Hotch, 3 more bodies," Agent Morgan leaned forward with his elbows on the table and one fist cupped in the other hand. "That's a lot of evidence we're missing. There could be a whole evolution or de-evoltuion we aren't seeing."

"I know," Agent Hotchner's mouth was a thin line of tension. "We have to go off what we have. In the meantime, Ms. Rosen, we'd like you to go undercover for us."

My breath left my body in a loud puff. I glanced from Emily on my right to Spencer on my left, my nervousness an almost tangible thing.

"Not exactly undercover," Agent Rossi amended. His eyes were kinder than Agent Hotchner's- although I don't think the latter meant any harm- so it was easier to focus on Rossi's words. "We'd like you to keep going about your daily life."

"Go to class, study, grab dinner with your friends," Agent Morgan recommended, shrugging one shoulder. "Act like nothing happened. Just everyday life."

"We'll set up a security detail on you and have an undercover agent with you at all times," Agent Hotchner added.

"I'm bait," I surmised.

Agent Hotchner's frowned, "You're not-"

"You're bait," Emily agreed with me, cutting him off. I turned to meet her eye and she shrugged one shoulder, unapologetic.

Agent Hotchner's eyes blazed in her direction.

"Okay, I'm bait," I nodded as I processed that, but it didn't upset me as much as it should have. At least I'd be able to contribute. I'm sure when the unsub actually came for me, I'd be a lot less calm about being bait, but in this moment I was completely on board with it. "So, how do we do this? What about my classes? I can't have one of you strolling in with me. That'll seem a little unrealistic."

"From what we can tell, this unsub doesn't stalk his victims much before he attacks. He wouldn't know much about your personal life, so Reid's going to go undercover, as well. He'll be acting as your boyfriend. He's visiting from out of town for a few weeks and staying at your place. That'll give him the perfect excuse to be with you as much as possible," Agent Hotchner informed me.

I looked over at Spencer, who seemed to have a hard time meeting anyone's eye. Head tilted, I studied him for a minute, "My friends won't believe that."

Spencer's head lifted and his eyes met mine for a brief second. I thought I saw hurt, but my attention was grabbed by Agent Morgan huffing, "And why not?"

"Oh, he's totally my type, they'd have no problem believing I'm into him," I amended quickly. I realized Spencer must have felt slighted at my earlier words. "The issue is not him. He's the perfect pick to be my boyfriend."

Agent Morgan lifted an inquisitive brow with a smirk playing on the corners of his lips. I realized my wording. Warmth filled my cheeks and I did my best to maintain eye contact as if I wasn't blushing like a school girl.

Agent Hotchner cleared his throat and I was mortified to see a small smile on his face, too. "What is the problem then, Ms. Rosen?"

I breathed in deep to fight the mortification, "That he's popping up out of nowhere. I tell my friends everything, why would I keep a boyfriend secret?"

"You're an out-of-state student, right?" Agent Rossi asked. "From California?"

I nodded my head, even though it seemed like he didn't need much clarification.

"So, you met him in an airport flying home. He asked for your number and you thought, why not. He's cute and you're both young, what do you have to lose. You didn't think it'd become anything, because he lived in Virginia, so you didn't tell anyone about it. Why get their hopes up? Why get your own hopes up? But he texted and he called. And you fell for him. He had a couple business trips that brought him down to bordering states and you guys met up each time. Now he's here for a couple weeks and you guys have decided to make it official. Which is why you're telling your friends now and want them to meet him," Agent Rossi finished with a nonchalant shrug.

"Wow," I was impressed.

"He's an author," JJ supplied. I nodded in understanding; Agent Rossi winked conspiratorially.

"You can also play up the fact that your apartment was broken into and you'd feel safer with someone staying there with you," Emily mentioned. "Tell them that's the reason he flew out."

"Okay," I met Spencer's eye, trying- and failing- to squash the bundle of nerves. "You're my boyfriend from Virginia. What's your fake name? How old are we saying you are? Should we have nicknames for each other?" This last question was aimed at the group.

Agent Morgan grinned mischievously, "You want it to seem as natural as possible. If you're feelin' it, slip a 'babe' in there, but don't force it. Play off the chemistry that's already there."

"Morgan," Agent Hotchner chastised. My cheeks felt warm again and Agent Morgan grinned wider. Agent Hotchner turned his attention to me and Spencer. "He's right, though, we do want it to seem natural. That's why we'll keep Reid's name the same. Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, is going to create fake profiles for Reid. We'll give him a civilian life, but keep it as close to the real thing as possible, so there's less possibilities of slip ups."

"We'll also have a few agents posted as faculty and staff on campus. Reid can't always be with you," Agent Rossi added. "We don't think he's going to try anything there, though. All his other attacks have been at night and in the victim's home."

"With Reid in your apartment, he won't be able to attack you when you're alone, though," Emily pointed out. "He might decide it's worth the risk with Reid in the house or he might try to get you alone. Just in case, the rest of us will take shifts staking out in the empty apartment across the courtyard from you. And we'll have surveillance inside, so we know if anything goes wrong."

"Like cameras in my apartment?" My nose wrinkled in distaste. Spencer chuckled, making noise for the first time since the fake boyfriend assignment was mentioned.

"Just bugs, so we can hear if there's a break in," Agent Morgan clarified. "And only in the front room. We don't want to invade you two lovebirds' privacy."

"This is the first time one of his victims has lived, that we know of," Agent Hotchner ignored Agent Morgan this time. Although that did little to stop the latter's grin. "We've also added another obstacle for him, so it's highly likely that he'll take his time stalking you. Figuring out your schedule, trying to find his new window. Trying to decide if you're working with the FBI since he knows we're onto him now, or if you're simply trying to move on with your life. We have to operate under the assumption that he's got eyes and ears on you at all times. So you and Reid will have to continue acting like a couple even in the apartment."

"You're going to have to get to know each other enough in the next hour or so, to be able to pass as a couple," Agent Rossi shifted forward in his seat. "You have the excuse of being in a new relationship, plus the idea that you've only met up in person a few times, to cover for any initial awkwardness."

"But," Agent Hotchner picked up from there, "the unsub will be suspicious of Reid's timing. He has to think you're an actual couple. If he suspects Reid's law enforcement, he could devolve."

"Devolve?" I didn't like the sound of that.

"Often times, when unsubs feel like the police are closing in on them, they'll resort to drastic measures," Spencer explained. I turned to meet his eye and he looked away, but after a few seconds, dragged his gaze back to mine. He seemed shy, but he continued, "They start to stray from their normal behaviors, which makes them near impossible to anticipate. Sometimes they go on killing sprees, or target large populated areas. Sometimes they plan for death by cop, where they give the officers no chance but to shoot."

"And sometimes, they go into hiding," Agent Morgan finished for him. When I gave him my attention, he shrugged one shoulder solemnly. "They find somewhere new. Cover their tracks. Start killing again under the radar. It could be years before the new killings are linked to their previous ones."

"We can't let him get away," Agent Hotchner said decidedly. "JJ and Prentiss, take Ms. Rosen to listen to the voicemails. See if she can identify any of the voices as the unsub. Rossi and I will start looking for those other bodies."

"Hey, kid," I looked over at Agent Morgan, but he was addressing Spencer. He motioned with his head for Spencer to follow him, as he stood and started walking to the far side of the room. "Lemme talk to you for a second."

Spencer stood and made his way over, but I couldn't hear any more of their conversation. Emily was waiting by my side for me to stand and JJ had the door propped open for me.

They led me down the hallway we had entered through, until we were standing by the front doors again. Instead of exiting, we walked towards what Emily told me was called the bull pen. There was another hallway past the bull pen and that's where we headed. JJ knocked, before opening the first door on the left.

"Agent Jareau," a gruff voice called in greeting. It belonged to a tall, built man who looked to be approaching mid-forties. He sported a star on his uniform that read Sheriff.

"Sheriff Graham," JJ responded. She shook his hand with a warm smile before introducing me and Emily.

With the niceties out of the way, Sheriff Graham bluntly asked, "What are you here for?" He wasn't rude about it, but he cut straight to the point and something about that made me instantly trust him.

"Ms. Rosen was the 911 call earlier," JJ explained. "She heard the unsub's voice. We were wondering if she could listen to those voicemails you have recorded, to see if she can identify any of the voices."

Sheriff Graham's eyebrows raised in interest, but the rest of his face gave nothing away. "Certainly."

"Two of the most recent victims were called by the same number less than an hour before they were murdered," Emily said, filling me. Sheriff Graham heavy-handedly punched something into his computer. "They both were left the same voicemail; an automated-sounding one about a new videogame store opening up."

"The videogame employee theory," I surmised in a whisper.

JJ nodded, "That's where it tied in. The voicemail isn't incriminating though, so we have no reason to bring in whoever's behind that voicemail."

"But if I identify him as the man in my apartment," I trailed off, fitting the pieces together.

"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes," Sheriff Graham teased, his tone light enough to ease the insult. He flipped the screen around and shifted the mouse in my direction. It hovered over the play button. "Here you are, miss. On your own time."

Wanna play a game? His terrible voice whispered in the back of my mind.

I suppressed a shiver of fear. I had already determined I'd be strong enough. Emily took my hand in hers and squeezed it lightly once, before letting go. I pressed play.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I'm soooo sorry that it's been so long! College started back up and you would not BELIEVE how stressful these first two weeks were. Enough excuses, I'm going to try to update more regularly...**

 **As an apology, here's a chapter in Reid's POV!**

 **Tell me what you think...**

* * *

"Let me ask you something," Morgan glanced over my shoulder, waiting for something. I followed his gaze to see that he was watching JJ, Prentiss and Amelia exit the room. As soon as the door closed, Morgan continued, "What do you think about Ms. Rosen?"

"What do I think about her?" I could feel my nose wrinkle in confusion.

"Humor me, Reid," he insisted.

"I think she's brave for agreeing to this," I acquiesced with a shrug, still uncertain what he was asking for. "She certainly handled the whole ordeal much better than I anticipated. Than any of us anticipated."

"Okay, I'll give you that," he folded his arms across his chest. The way he did when he was holding himself back from saying something. Body language is 55% of communication and Morgan's was easy to read. The team had an unspoken promise to never profile each other, but sometimes it was hard to turn it off. "What about her as a person, outside of the case? Her personality, the things she talks about, her smile?"

"We haven't talked about much outside of the case," I frowned. I was surprised to realize I was frowning because I didn't like that fact. I tried to think of something, "We talked about my eidetic memory. She didn't seem to think I was a freak."

Morgan was smiling softly and he nodded at me to continue. I realized I was starting to smile, too.

"When you first were introduced to her, she was challenging my memory. She quoted a book and when I knew the next line, she seemed," I trailed off not knowing the right word. I could see her face clearly in my mind- my eidetic memory usually pertained to things I read, but it didn't stop there. But I didn't know how to properly describe what I had seen in it.

"Impressed?" Morgan offered.

I nodded my head- not because the word fit perfectly, but because it was the closest I could get. I didn't think there was a word that fit perfectly. For once, I was at a loss for words.

She looked at me like I had passed a secret test and like she wanted to test me more, to make sure it wasn't a fluke. Like she was proud of me and like she was slightly envious. Like I was a rarity and like I was a normal person.

"She seemed to recognize that I was different," I said slowly, understanding the words only as I spoke them. "And yet, thought of me as a regular person, just like her."

"And what did you think about that?" As fast as my neurons fired, I was able to recognize the irony of Morgan playing the shrink for me, while simultaneously considering his question.

"I guess I thought," I began and then turned to look at her picture taped on the white board. I nervously tucked a curl behind my ear and faced him again, "I guess I thought it'd be nice to be around her more. I don't think... Morgan, I don't think she'd judge me."

Morgan knew I had a hard time connecting with people. Most people thought I was a robot, a nerd, a freak. They didn't stick around to get to know the person behind the brain. It made dating hard. And now here I was, put in the awkward position of pretending to date the one girl I think might have actually stuck around if we had met under normal circumstances.

"Spencer," Morgan said softly, breaking me out of my thoughts. "You can use this to your advantage."

I tilted my head to the side, "What do you mean?"

He chuckled and shook his head, "Kid, you're going to be acting like her boyfriend. Staying at her place and meeting her friends. Use this opportunity. Show her the Spencer Reid we all know and love, she won't be able to resist."

The curl came untucked. "What if I mess it up?" I shoved the hair back into place.

"Don't," he shrugged like it was that easy. "Be yourself. Don't go into it with the mindset that it's pretend. Talk to her; really talk to her. About the things you want to talk about, not about what you think she'd want to hear. How many times are you going to get the chance to bypass the awkwardness of a first date? You get to jump straight into the relationship. Show her why she should want to stay in the relationship."

"You really think that'll work?" I scratched behind my ear, thinking about his plan.

"Reid," his voice demanded my full attention. My hand dropped to my side. "She called you the perfect pick for her boyfriend."

I felt a blush creeping up my neck, but I didn't understand his insinuation. I looked anywhere but him, "So?"

"So, women don't say that about men they aren't interested in," his voice rose in pitch and volume, like I was being unreasonable for asking. "She's into you. You can't miss your shot, here, kid."

I shook my head, wanting to protest. There was no evidence that she was "into me," as Morgan put it.

He held one hand up to silence me, "I know women, Reid. Plus, you're totally her type," he mimicked Amelia's earlier words with a teasing grin.

I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away, but Morgan saw my blush before I could hide it. His laughter caused me to smile to myself.

My eyes felt tired, in the way they do when I had my contacts in for too long. It had already been a long day and I still had a lot more ahead of me. I headed to the restroom to take my contacts out, grabbing my glasses case from my satchel on the way.

It was also an excuse to fix my presentation before Amelia came back. I easily removed and discarded the one-day lenses, carelessly shoving my glasses into place. My fingers combed through my hair carefully, fixing the part and smoothing the ends that curled across the right side of my forehead. I smoothed my sweater vest and took a deep breath.

"You got this," I mumbled to myself, fingers straightening my impeccably straight tie. I repeated Morgan's advice to my reflection in an attempt rally my nerves, "Just be yourself. Talk about things you want to talk about. Don't mess up."

I fidgeted with my hair one more time and then forced myself to leave the bathroom.

When I walked in the room, the three women were back and seated at the table. Rossi and Hotch were still in their seats where they had called Garcia to give her the necessary perimeters to find the 3 other victims. Morgan was standing with his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs.

JJ was in my seat next to Amelia. I tried not to let it bother me.

"It wasn't him," Amelia informed me, her eyes filled with disappointment.

I replaced my glasses case in my satchel, tempted to point out that it was never that easy for us. Instead I settled for a small smile that I hoped was reassuring. She looked down quickly, but I saw the corner of her lip turn up in a crooked smile and her cheeks turned pink.

In my mind, I heard Morgan's voice telling me she was into me.

I glanced over at him to see if he had seen the interaction and could enlighten me on what it meant, but he was looking to Hotch. I hadn't realized Hotch was talking.

"-went over the victimology and MO with Garcia, so she's working her magic on that right now," Hotch was saying. He straightened a pile of files and stood. "There's nothing more we can do until we get those names back from her. In the meantime, Reid and Rosen, you'll need to do your part. We had a squad car staking out your apartment, Ms. Rosen, in case the unsub came back to wait for your return. As soon as you agreed, I had them install the bugs, so you're apartment is safe. We'll get set up as discreetly as we can in the apartment across the way, but for now, you two are free to return to the apartment."

"Reid, you have your overnight bag with you, right?" Rossi asked.

My fingers nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ears. "It's in the SUV still." We hadn't gotten a chance to go to the hotel when we landed, so my duffel bag was with the others' in the car.

Hotch stood and pulled the keys from his pocket, "I'll show you the car we picked for you. It's meant to be a rental you got at the airport, but it's just one from impound with local plates."

I nodded my head and stood, tugging my coat on and then pulling the strap of my satchel over my head.

"So, Spencer's my ride, then?" Amelia asked, standing and slinging her coat across her shoulders. I swallowed hard, trying not to like the sound of me being her anything.

Prentiss nodded in response and stood when Amelia was finished buttoning up her coat. She pulled her in for a quick hug, but didn't release her completely.

Prentiss looked at Amelia affectionately as she held the latter's forearms and said, "Remember, if you need anything, we're just across the street. And you have both mine and JJ's numbers now. Don't forget our code word."

"Dreamboat, right," Amelia's cheeks reddened as she glanced over to me and then quickly away. Her words and blush made absolutely no sense. I made a mental note to analyze that moment later. "Because he could be monitoring my texts. Thanks, you guys."

JJ wrapped her in a hug, as well, but I was unable to make out what she said to Amelia in a low tone. It made Amelia smile at me warmly, though, so I assumed it was something good. Amelia began to walk my way and I nervously fiddled with the strap that ran diagonally across my chest.

She stopped in front of me. Amelia stilled my fidgeting hand, before fitting her small, delicate hand inside of mine. Her fingers wrapped between my much longer ones. Her cheeks were redder than they'd been all day, but she confidently said, "C'mon, boyfriend."

"Oh, uhm," I couldn't find the words, but I knew I didn't like being touched- at least usually. That was how germs spread. My brain was telling me to rip my hand out of hers and rush to the bathroom to wash it, but something wasn't letting me. It felt as though all the blood was rushing to my neck and cheeks. It felt as though every neuron in my brain was simultaneously and repeatedly registering the contact of her skin against mine. It felt as though my heart, which was very much inside my chest and always would be, was thundering in my throat. I swallowed hard. "Actually, I don't really do, uh, touching."

"You do now," her eyebrow raised. She was challenging me to disagree, but a hint of a smile told me she wasn't upset with my attempt at rejecting physical touch. Almost like she understood.

I heard Morgan stifle a laugh, but my eyes were locked on Amelia's. I tried again, half-heartedly, "The number of pathogens exchanged in a handshake is astounding."

Now she was sporting a full grin, "Good thing we aren't shaking hands, then."

And with that, she pulled me out of the room. I was happy to leave, if only because the door closing behind us and Hotch cut the sound of the others' laughter.

The hand that was not tangled with hers, took up its partner's earlier work of toying at the frayed stitches on my satchel's strap. I pretended not to see her notice and frown.

"I don't need to remind you to keep your badge and gun hidden," Hotch reminded me despite his words. He stepped around us and walked down the hallway. We followed, her hand in mine.

I nodded, when he looked over his shoulder for confirmation. "Has Garcia finished with my cover?" I asked.

"Yes. You're a pharmacist at a pharmaceutical company called HemoShear, in Charlottesville, Virginia. Since we wanted to keep it as real as possible, this job allows you to play off your doctorate in Chemistry. It was the easier choice, since a pharmaceutical rep would travel more than an engineer or mathematician," Hotch explained as we rounded the corner at the end of the hall.

"Wait," Amelia pulled lightly on my arm to get my attention. "You have more than one degree?"

"Yes," I answered simply. I didn't want to disclose how much of a freak I actually was, just yet. When they both remained quiet, I gave in. "I have BA's in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy and Ph.D.'s in Chemistry, Engineering and Mathematics."

"Are you serious?" She exclaimed rather loudly. I saw a few officers from the bullpen shift their attention to us in anticipation. Hotch stopped at the exit, probably to wait for the conversation to end so there wasn't any chance of us blowing our cover outside. Amelia turned to face me, our fingers still intertwined. "Hold on, how old are you?"

"I'm 25," I couldn't meet her eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. I wasn't ready yet for the scrutiny. For the look that reminded me how different I was, that I would always be an outcast.

"You're incredible," her voice was barely more than a whisper.

My eyes shot up, trying to see if she was telling the truth. She had that same look as before, that I couldn't describe to Morgan. The one I inadequately labeled as impressed, though again, I didn't know another word that fit any better.

Her lips curved up in what was quickly becoming my favorite smile and her eyes shone with humor. "That makes me barely 2 and a half years younger than you and with only one degree to boast of. What have I been doing with my life? How am I going to fit 3 doctoral programs into the next 5 semesters?"

"Don't forget the 2 extra bachelor's degrees," Hotch added. He smiled genuinely, something that always made me feel safe in a strange way. The psychologist in me knew it was probably because of how seldom he smiled- due to the nature of our job- and the fact that when he did smile, it was after we were out of the woods, so to speak. Also, because he was like a father figure to me, when I had no father of my own.

Amelia's musical laugh brought my attention back to her. She very literally laughed in a scale of notes. I couldn't help but smile then.

"Let's go," Hotch placed a hand on the door. His smile lingered as he pushed the door open.

We stepped out into the cold and I felt Amelia's hand tighten around mine. She tucked her free hand into the crook of my arm, drawing her body up against my arm. Her shoulder leaned slightly into my side, as she huddled closer for warmth.

Her shrinking into me somehow made me stand taller. I felt bigger, more of a protector.

I had a bad habit of comparing myself to Morgan, especially when we were in the field. He was so much more physically capable of that part of our job. He was invincible, where I was the scrawny nerd who got in the way or got captured and put the mission at risk.

But in that moment with Amelia, I felt like I was the invincible one. She was trusting in me and she was depending on me. And for the indefinite future, I was her source of safety and protection.

The thought felt somehow like a boast.

Wordlessly, Hotch plucked my duffle from the trunk of one of the SUVs. He slammed the trunk shut before continuing farther into the parking lot.

He approached an average looking four-door sedan. In the faint, yellowish light of the street lamps, I couldn't tell if it was white, silver or gray.

"The keys should be in the ignition," Hotch called over his shoulder, walking towards the back of the car. He opened the- apparently unlocked- back door and set the duffle bag inside. Hotch shut the door and his gaze felt piercing as he said, "Watch each other's backs."

He nodded once in goodbye and then walked briskly back towards the building.

Amelia was still anchored securely to me, so I walked her over to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her. She climbed in with a small smile she tried to hide behind the turned-up collar of her coat.

As I closed the door and started to circle the front of the car, I tried to psych myself up. I sank into the driver's seat, slinging my satchel over my head and onto the back seat.

I saw Amelia wrap her arms around herself and immediately set to turning the engine- and consequently the heater- on.

Her small hands flew towards the vents, eagerly searching out the heat. The mundane action made my heart beat stutter.

I fiddled around with the seat controls, trying to create enough space for my long legs. When I felt comfortable enough, I turned to face Amelia. She was already looking at me and I felt myself blush. I hoped she'd blame it on the heat.

"Ready?" I didn't trust my voice to be steady enough to say much more than that.

Her answering smile was dazzling. "Whenever you are, babe."

* * *

 **ahowell1993 hope you liked the pic from that link!**

 **finnmeg Thank you and thanks for sticking around! hope you liked this one**

 **librarylife28 that is so sweet! i'm sorry i kept you waiting!**

 **thegirlthatreadsalot thank you for your love! again, sorry that i kept you waiting!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Sorry again for the late post. Quick question: how do you guys feel about more Reid POV chapters? I don't always love when fanfics switch back and forth a lot... but I feel like Reid has a lot to contribute to this fic and like he can really drive the plot forward.**

 **Please let me know what you think:** **Reid POV's, yes or no?**

* * *

I hoped he'd attribute the blush on my cheeks to the blasting heater. In all reality, I was slightly mortified by how boldly I had jumped into this undercover role. It didn't help that something within me sang with delight at how natural and right it felt to address him that way.

I thought of JJ's parting words, which only intensified the heat in my cheeks and caused it to spread to my neck.

 _You can trust Spence, he'll take care of you. And Amelia? Give him a chance. I've seen the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. He deserves happiness. Maybe you can be that for him._

My fingers warm, I pulled my hands away from the vents and self-consciously knotted them together in my lap. I snuck a glance at Spencer, but it was hard to see much besides the outline of his profile and headlights reflecting off his glasses in the dark.

My eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard and I groaned.

Spencer's head tilted to the side, an endearing outward expression of confusion. I was glad that the darkness hid the grin I failed at suppressing. It was unfair that he was so... _adorable._

"I have to be up for class in four hours," I answered his unspoken question.

Fatigue blind-sided me at the moment of this realization. It was probably partially due to the shock and adrenaline ebbing away and partially due to the warmth that now flowed through the car. My eye lids felt heavy, but I forced them to stay open.

We were almost to my apartment, anyway.

The car took too-wide of a turn into the parking lot and we rocked a little as the back tire jumped the curb. Keeping my comments on his driving to myself, I directed Spencer to one of the two parking spots with my apartment number painted on it. He parked fairly crookedly beside my own car. For a few seconds, neither of us made any move to exit the vehicle.

"It's gonna be so cold," I whined quietly.

Spencer made an amused sound, stuck somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle. I couldn't help but giggle along, it was infectious. Spencer removed the keys, effectively killing the engine and our source of heat.

With a sigh, I bolstered my courage and opened the car door. It was a struggle to exit the vehicle with what little room Spencer's parking job had left me, but I managed and stood by the front of the car waiting for him. He took a few more seconds to exit, as he wrestled his bags out from the back seat.

Once he had shut the door behind him, I turned and started towards my apartment with my fake new boyfriend in tow. My gloved fingers fumbled for the keys in my coat pocket and I struggled to insert it in the lock, but I eventually got the door open.

As soon as Spencer stepped in behind me, I shut the door, threw the deadbolt and secured the chain-lock in place. Perhaps too hastily, but I felt like my panic was justified after today.

I turned from the door to see Spencer awkwardly glancing around my apartment, still holding his bags. He took his time, making sure to look at everything, but me. I thought about how this was supposed to be his first time in my apartment and decided to play it up, so the unsub wouldn't get suspicious. If he was even listening.

"So, this is it," I said in a cheery voice, drawing out the vowels slightly. Spencer finally looked at me and I continued, "It's a little small and a lot old, but it does the job for two college students."

His mouth turned down, but his eyebrows rose in a juxtaposition that- when complimented by his nodding head- made it seem as though he agreed. "It's nice. It feels good to be able to see the setting for so many of your stories, finally," he played along.

"You can see what I meant about the tiny kitchen!" I complained with a giggle.

He adjusted his hold on his bag and I instantly felt like a terrible hostess.

"C'mon," I said, nudging my head in the direction of my room. "You can set your stuff down."

I unbuttoned my coat as we headed towards my room, feeling very self-conscious. I think the agents who placed the bugs must have helped clean up a little, because the bed was made and my pile of dirty laundry was actually in the basket, instead of next to it. One of the drawers of my dresser was opened and as I approached, I saw it had been emptied.

"I made space for your clothes in here, if you want to unpack," I said uncertainly, silently wondering what they had done with the clothes that had been there.

Spencer approached the dresser slowly and nodded a few times. Awkward silence fell upon us.

I turned to my closet and took my coat off, replacing it on its hanger. I tugged my boots off and threw them at the haphazard pile of shoes on the floor of my closet, next to the shoe rack I never used.

When I turned to face him again, Spencer was still standing in the same place. Hadn't moved a muscle. As embarrassed and awkward as I felt about the whole situation, I was still rapidly fading into exhaustion.

"I'm gonna go get ready for bed," I hedged. My statement was punctuated by a nicely timed yawn.

Spencer took a step back as I approached the dresser. I quickly grabbed the top two things out of my pajama drawer and rushed to the bathroom.

That, of course, was a mistake. Fear came rushing back- a powerful way of waking myself back up. Not wanting to stay in that room any longer than I had to, I forced myself into action.

I was beyond grateful that I had already showered before tonight's traumatic event. That only left me with brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas on my to-do list. I mindlessly went through this shortened version of my nightly routine. The clothes I changed out of could be worn again- I only had them on for about an hour- so I folded them into a neat pile.

I gave myself a once-over before I left and snorted in amusement. I had grabbed a blue and green plaid, fleece button-down pajama shirt that once belonged to my grandpa and was, therefore, about three sizes too big. If I had paired it with the matching pants that I had hemmed to keep myself from tripping over them, the ensemble would have been fine. But in my absent-minded haste, I had grabbed a pair of pajama shorts that were pink and had little test tubes, Erlenmeyer flasks and beakers on them, all filled with various colors of chemicals.

I looked like a preschooler trying to dress herself for the first time.

I shrugged at myself in the mirror with a slight smile and then turned to leave the bathroom, folded clothes in one arm. My bedroom door was closed. I cautiously knocked on the door, feeling silly for asking permission to enter my own room.

Spencer opened the door and gave me a not-so-subtle, yet somehow innocent once-over. His eyes widened when they reached my shorts.

"Are those Erlenmeyer flasks?" He exclaimed, his voice higher both in volume and pitch than I would have expected possible. He bent almost entirely in half to get a better look and his glasses slid down his nose at the abrupt movement.

Spencer lifted his hand to adjust his glasses and when his hand dropped, it grazed the exposed skin of my thigh. Even though it was merely a ghost of a touch, it was more than enough to send a shiver up my spine and a blush across Spencer's cheek.

He straightened just as suddenly as he had bent over, his wide-eyes looked on mine. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, but I could feel his apology hanging in the air between us. I swallowed down the nerves his touch had brought on and tried to act as if nothing had happened. If not for myself or Spencer, then at least for the sake of protecting our cover.

"Yeah and beakers and test tubes," I tried to match his earlier enthusiasm. "There's this great website I found that sells nerd clothes. It has all kinds of things. I even found and bought a Periodic Table of Elements dress from it. Wanna see?"

Without waiting for his response, I edged past him to get into the room and set the folded clothes on the top of my dresser. I tried not to think too much about why hearing the sound of him closing the door behind me made me excited and nervous at the same time.

I pulled the dress from my closet and held it up for Spencer to see.

"Isn't it pretty?" I tilted the hanger slightly so the dress swung elegantly to emphasize my point.

Spencer closed the distance between us and gently lifted the hem of the dress. I couldn't help but notice that he was trying to avoid another awkward encounter by bringing the dress to him, instead of bending over to get a better look.

A realization hit me. Before he could respond to my question, I thrust the hanger into his hand and spun around to face the jewelry rack on the wall behind me.

"Here it is!" I exclaimed after a few seconds of looking. I wrestled the necklace away from a few others that it had gotten tangled up with and turned back to Spencer. Lifting it to hang at his eye level, I reverently whispered, "Here's the necklace I got to go with it."

Spencer's critical eye moved from the dress to the necklace. The chain swayed from the small puff of air he let out. We made eye contact through the gaps in the molecule that was crafted out of sleek silver bars.

"Serotonin," he whispered, like I had. His eyes focused back on the silvery molecule as he switched into genius mode, "A neurotransmitter that is widely-believed to promote happiness. It regulates mood, sleep and appetite."

"It's also involved in cognitive functions, like memory," I added and his eyes flicked to mine with fervor.

I took great pride in the way he looked at me in that moment. Like he was shocked by my knowledge, but also like he wasn't surprised at my intelligence. Like he was slightly offended that I had interrupted his brilliant monologue, but also like he wanted me to continue talking now that I had interrupted. Like that piece of information was basic knowledge, but also like he was impressed that I knew it.

I thought of the way both Spencer and Emily had looked at me when I had translated Spencer's science-talk. It dawned on me that as closely knit as this team seemed to be, Spencer was still somehow on the outside. And yet, I "spoke Reid," as Emily had put it. I got a glimpse at how lonely a life that must be. To have a definitive barrier between you and the people you're closest to, no matter what you do. I could tell the rest of the team cared about Spencer, but that wasn't the same as them understanding who he was.

My heart stuttered painfully in my chest and then I reached another realization. I wanted him to feel like he belonged _with me._

The moment that thought entered my mind, I broke eye contact. My cheeks heated up and I turned back around, using the excuse of putting the necklace away to hide my blush.

I heard movement behind me and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer hanging my dress back up in the closet. It was such a domestic and somehow intimate scene. My blush only deepened.

Not wanting to look at him, I stared at the closest thing to me. Which ended up being the bed. That didn't help the blushing, at all.

He must have noticed my gaze, because I heard him say, "You should probably get some rest."

I was very aware that he excluded himself from that statement. "What about you?"

"What about me?" He parroted, his eyebrows curving upwards in confusion.

"You should get some rest, too," I explained, looking back and forth from each of his eyes to see if he could hear the nerves in my voice. The idea of sleeping in the same bed as him brought me a mixture of emotions that I was too exhausted to sort out right now. I knew apprehension and excitement were among the top competitors for my attention, though.

"Oh, right. Well," he trailed off, lowering his gaze and scratching behind his ear- a nervous habit.

Before the mix of our anxiety and awkwardness could suffocate us, I decided to be the brave one. I swallowed down my nerves and said, "C'mon now. The bed is plenty big for two. And I promise I don't bite unless asked to."

I giggled nervously at my own stupid joke and climbed into the bed. It was only then that I realized it had been pulled away from the wall, so that the bed could be accessed from either side. The team that swept for bugs had either been told we'd be sharing a bed, or they assumed we would. I didn't know which idea bothered me more.

I busied myself by making myself comfortable, fluffing the pillow and wiggling around to find the right spot. Anything I could do to not let myself feel stifled by the awkward silence and the fact that Spencer hadn't moved an inch and was simply watching me. I couldn't keep it up for long, though.

Soon enough, I was simply laying on my back, starring at the ceiling and pretending I didn't feel his eyes on me. I heard movement and looked down in time to see him heading out of the room.

In his absence, I took the time to quickly remove my bra and hide it under the bed skirt. Feeling much more comfortable and ready to sleep, I snuggled down into the warmth of the covers. I turned on my side, facing the door and felt fatigue wash over me. The mattress below me seemed to envelope me in its comfort.

I heard the door open and the brightness behind my eyelids disappeared with a click that I assumed was the light switch. I was tempted to open my eyes and try to find him in the dark, but exhaustion glued my eyes shut. The bed dipped behind me and fear gave me enough strength to sleepily blink my eyes open and glance over my shoulder.

Reassured that it was Spencer, I mumbled a goodnight and tumbled into sleep.

* * *

 **howling wolf mika Thanks for the love! :)**

 **Cee I hope you enjoyed this chapter too! ;P**

 **LadySnowTheStark Thank you so much for your feedback! I've been wanting to do an OC being hunted fic for years and was always worried about writing the case portion of it. So thank you, I appreciate your review!**

 **TheatreGirl81 I should hope so! I've only watched the show about 6 times through lol! But really, thank you. I think the most important part of fanfics is writing true to the characters so thank you!**

 **Guests thank you for reviewing! I wish I could thank you individually, but I don't know who wrote each comment, so here's a general thanks!** **I hope you guys liked it and (to the guest with the comment about OCs) I totally understand you on that! I hope my vagueness in not fully describing Amelia helps y'all to imagine your own character that you think fits Reid the best.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** **Sorry for the wait again. I was going to try to update weekly, but that hasn't been working out, so I think I'm gonna shoot for biweekly. You guys have been seriously AMAZING with the reviews. You have no idea how much those keep me writing, so thank you thank you THANK YOU!**

 **A bit fluffy, but I gotta establish something between them for story development so enjoy...**

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As soon as I registered the beeping of my alarm, my hand shot out to silence the interruption to my peaceful sleep. My eyes felt heavy with lack of sleep and I was cocooned in warmth.

My arm snaked back under the covers to escape the chill of the room and I snuggled back into the warmth and comforting presence of pillows against my back. I was considering skipping class to fall back into the gentle lull of slumber, when the wall of pillows behind me moved.

An arm tightened around my waist. That was not a wall of pillows behind me, it was a person.

My eyes shot open and as wakefulness hit me, I remembered everything that happened last night.

Spencer was slowly waking up behind me and I stayed completely frozen, slightly terrified to move and alert him that I was awake. Instead, I battled internally between not freaking out about how intimately we were intertwined after having just met and wanting to memorize this feeling of being held by him while I had the chance.

The romantic inside me won out and I took catalogue of all the ways we were pressed together.

He had one arm wrapped around my waist, that was tightening slightly as he woke up and therefore pulling me closer to him. His other arm seemed to be resting on the pillow above my head, his fingertips lightly brushing the top of my head with his deep breathing, which I could feel breeze across the top of my head. Curled on my right side as I was, my right leg was bent back toward him and interlocked between his ankles.

He was so much longer than me, that he seemed to curve around me protectively. I reveled in it.

Much too soon for my liking, he seemed to realize that he was actively holding me against his chest. His arm stilled its movements; no longer pulling me towards him, but not moving away from me either. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to even my breathing, so he wouldn't know that I'd been enjoying our position.

He slowly began to retract the arm around my waist with the same care one would take around a dangerous animal. I felt my heart falter at the loss of warmth from his arm, even though he had only moved a few inches away.

Without thinking, I turned over and snuggled into his chest, while still pretending to be asleep. Spencer froze again, his body going rigid next to mine. I whined slightly and buried my nose into his chest, seeking his warmth. In an instant, his arm fell back around me waist, hand resting on the small of my back.

I tried not to smile against his chest, but failed.

"Are you...you're awake?" He mumbled softly, leaning back so my face wasn't hidden in his chest anymore.

I peeked one eye open and looked up to see him craning his neck to look down at me.

I smiled sheepishly, "Good morning?"

"Good morning," his voice rose towards the end and he sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced over my head, presumably at my alarm clock. "Don't you have class?"

"It's too cold for class," I complained, grabbing small fistfuls of the front of his shirt and using that leverage to pull him back towards me. I sighed contently at the warmth and tangled our legs together once more. "That's much better."

Spencer made a humming sound that vibrated against my forehead. I couldn't quite understand the meaning behind it, but I was blissfully on my way back to sleep so I didn't care.

"Should you email your professor? Or text a friend to get notes from after class?" His chest vibrated with his speech, too, and I found I rather liked the sensation of feeling and hearing his words. He also sounded a bit panicked and I realized that I might be pushing too far, too fast.

In my half-asleep search for warmth and comfort, I hadn't considered Spencer's comfort.

I rolled onto my back, falling away from him. His arm was still around my waist and his hand now hovered gingerly on my hip where it had fallen with my movements, like he was afraid to let it rest completely. I had intended to leave the bed completely to give him space, but I hesitated for a moment, enjoying this new position.

"Alright, I'll go to class," I grumbled half-heartedly, smiling slightly so he didn't think I was upset with him.

His hand on my hip now exerted a slight pressure, like he was holding me in place. "Oh, well, I didn't mean you had to go. I mean, education is important and college is a great place to further your knowledge, but you can make your own decisions. Not that you don't already know that. And you went through a lot last night, so I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to sleep in. You only got about 3 hours of sleep and while REM sleep does cycle in hours of 3, that's still not a healthy amount. You might not even be able to focus on class and then what's the point of going and suffering from lack of sleep if you don't benefit from it."

I cut off his rambling by rolling back towards him and pressing on his chest with enough force that he rolled onto his back. In his stunned silence, I maneuvered the arm closest to me, so that it now was wrapped under me and his hand rested on the small of my back. Then I laid my head on his chest and rested my hand on his heart, enjoying the rapid beating I felt there.

"I'll email my professor when we wake up, how does that sound?" I murmured as a compromise, resting my chin on his chest to glance up at him.

"Good. Um, yeah. Good," his eyes met mine for the briefest of seconds and then he resorted to starring at the ceiling. I could still see the blush on his cheeks, though.

I laid my head back down on his chest with a giant grin I couldn't contain. It was interrupted by a loud yawn. I pressed myself even closer to his warmth and floated back down into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

The second time I woke up, consciousness began to bleed into the peaceful black of sleep like a soothing stretch of sore limbs. I couldn't remember the last time I woke up without an alarm. Even on the weekends, grad school kept me so busy that I was up every morning working on assignments, heading out to study groups, going to conferences, you name it.

I reveled in the serene build up to wakefulness and instinctively pulled the covers tighter to my chest. Then I remembered that I had a sleeping companion. Or I used to.

My eyes opened to check, but I could already feel without looking that I was alone in the bed. I propped myself up on my elbow and glanced around, but Spencer was nowhere to be seen. Before my mind could wonder much about where he was, a pressure on my bladder made itself known.

I groaned at the prospect of leaving my comfortable spot in bed, but rose and headed to the bathroom.

When I was done washing my hands, I decided to brush my teeth, as well. If I could find him, I didn't want to scare Spencer off with my morning breath.

The sight of his toothbrush next to mine in the toothbrush holder gave me a moment of pause. It was such a small, insignificant thing and yet, it was so domestic and intimate. A thought hit me.

I turned to the shower and pulled back the shower curtain. Sure enough, a Men's Dove 2-in-1 bottle sat next to my Pantene and there was a large bottle of Irish Spring body wash. Water still clung to the tiled wall from when Spencer must have showered this morning.

I quickly brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face to help remove any sleep from my eyes.

When I left the bathroom, my senses were overtaken by the delicious aroma of breakfast being cooked. I don't know how I missed it on the way into the bathroom, even if I was in a hurry to relieve myself. I walked into the living room and caught a glimpse of Spencer in the kitchen.

His tall frame made the small room look even smaller and my small-on-him apron he was wearing made him look even taller. His hair was damp, the edges of it curling away from his face as they dried, and he was wearing a button up with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

"Oh, good morning," he called out when he saw me. His closed-mouth smile stretched across his face farther than I thought possible. It practically took over his face; his nose scrunched up to make room for it and his eyes were squinted shut as his cheeks grew in size. It was quite possibly my new favorite smile, ever. Then he glanced down and uncertainly added, "I'm making breakfast."

"It smells great!" I enthusiastically clasped my hands together. The motion reminded me of a certain under garment that I had removed for comfort's sake last night. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I managed to excuse myself in a steady voice, "I'll just get changed really quick."

He nodded his head in understanding and I turned back to my room. My alarm clock read 11:35 AM, which reminded me that I had my second class of the day at 12:30 PM.

Considering I would still have to go to my afternoon classes, I pushed down the temptation to pull on some sweats and instead grabbed a pair of skinny jeans and a nice blouse. I pulled on some boots for warmth and then flitted to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

After wrestling with my hair to resemble a classy bun instead of a messy bun, I applied some quick foundation and mascara to tie the look together. I was pleasantly surprised that I had managed to accomplish this quick, but reasonably decent look in just over ten minutes.

When I walked back out to the living room, Spencer was spooning some scrambled eggs onto two paper plates that already contained bacon and waffles.

"Sleep well?" I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and feigned nonchalance at the domestic scene.

He set a plate in front of me and then rotated it slightly so my strips of bacon were parallel with the fork next to the plate. I failed to suppress an amused smile at his antics, but he was too busy carefully arranging his own plate to notice.

Finished, he looked up at me with one raised eyebrow, "Yes, I-um. Yes."

I took a sip from the glass of orange juice next to my plate to hide the next insuppressible smile.

He cleared his throat and took a seat.

I thought about the disappointment of waking up alone the second time.

Pointedly watching my hand maneuver the glass back into place in an attempt to keep a neutral tone, I remarked, "I didn't even notice you getting out of bed." My eyes followed my finger as it traced random patterns through the condensation on the cup, "I hope I didn't keep you from sleeping."

"Oh no! No, you didn't," Spencer cleared his throat again and I glanced up through my eyelashes to judge whether he was telling the truth. He scratched behind his ear, but held eye contact, "I don't usually sleep much when I'm on a... work trip. Plus, I'm not used to the time change, it's almost one in the afternoon for me right now. My body clock is just off. Actually, did you know that the human circadian rhythm actually starts much later than society as a whole has deemed the appropriate time to wake up? The average human brain isn't firing its neurons at full capacity until around 9 or 9:30 in the morning and yet, our jobs and our schools all start hours earlier."

His voice was a smidge too high. He was avoiding something or leaving something out.

I tilted my head slightly, as if a different angle could help me read his expression better.

Spencer glanced away. Then he took a deliberate gulp of his orange juice and refused to meet my eye. He was definitely not telling me something.

He sighed and then picked up his fork, only to push his eggs into two separate piles. Watching his movements, he admitted in a low voice, "Last night was the best I've slept in months. I've only been getting 2 or 3 hours at most, recently. Excluding the alarm waking us up for a few minutes, I got almost 7 whole hours last night."

I was at a loss for words.

His voice was low and somber, like there was something eating him alive that he couldn't bring himself to talk about. I locked up the maternal instinct that wanted to tell him how unhealthy such little sleep was and that he needed to get more. He already knew all that anyway, due to being a genius and all.

My heart stuttered at the misery on his face. It only lasted a brief second, but it was strong and it was all-consuming.

"Spencer," was all I managed to get out. My voice sounded strangled to my own ears and laden with raw emotions I couldn't place, even as they raged inside me.

His eyes shot up to mine at his name and they burned with something I didn't know how to define, but that I thought might closely resemble longing. A longing for understanding, a longing for reprieve, a longing for comfort and for safety and for _home_.

"I felt like I could let my guard down for the first time in a long time," he said slowly, meaning etched into every word. "Thank you for making me feel that way."

I reached across the table to where his hand rested by his glass and covered it with my own. His hand shifted slightly so that my fingers could lace with his.

"Thank you for making me feel safe," I whispered back. "I don't know how I would have gotten through the night without you after... Anyway, thank you."

One corner of his mouth tilted upwards as a reply. It was contagious; my lips lifted slightly in response.

We simply smiled softly at each other for a few more heartbeats.

Then Spencer's stomach growled and my soft smile broke into an amused grin, while his turned sheepish and his ears reddened. I lifted his hand slightly to squeeze our palms together for a moment and then released his hand so I could use mine to eat.

I took one bite of bacon and groaned in delight, "Spence, this is amazing!"

He simply grinned through his blush.

* * *

 **ahowell1993 thegirlthatreadsalot FCMgirl mirajnewolf46 19irene96- your wish is my command! We'll definitely get Reid's POV in future chapters. Thank you for your input it really helps me make decisions like this!**

 **Prolific Reider- i would like to start by saying I LOVELOVELOVE YOUR USERNAME its amazing. And thank you, I try not to make things too scripted or obvious. Realistic is key. Reid's POV will happen! Thanks for voting!**

 **Gawain- I'm so glad you liked it! Amelia will for sure stay the key main character and I don't want to do a ton of Reid chaps (probably 75% Amelia, 25% Reid). I'm so happy you like her, I feel like OC's are so hard to get people to like because fanfics are supposed to be about the characters that are already established so thank you!**

 **Guest (Gx)- Sorry for the wait! I was kinda iffy on the Reid in this chap matching up to canon Reid, so I hope you still think it's at least a little close to the show... Hold me accountable! I want it to be reasonably close to the show**

 **sparkleerose- You have no idea how happy this review made me! I showed it to some of my friends because it meant to much to me. Thank you thank you thank you! Like I mentioned to Guest (Gx) I'm not sure if the Reid in this chapter is very close to show-Reid bc we don't see a lot of romance! Reid or physical affection! Reid so I'm kinda having to diverge. Let me know what you think**

 **amroberts17- Sorry for the wait and I hope you like this chap!**


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so sorry for the wait! I can't promise that I'll do much better, but I will promise to try to finish the story. I really don't want to leave it incomplete. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The anxiety-induced knot in my stomach had shrunk, but even her kind words and sweet smile couldn't make it disappear completely. For the brief moment that her fingers had intertwined with mine, the knot didn't exist. That was data I needed to file away and examine later, when I was alone.

I wasn't much of a breakfast person, so I ate very little. I mostly observed Amelia.

Every now and then, she'd take a bite and shrug her shoulders up and down with a small little smile. The entirely innocent joy she got from simply eating a (hopefully) delicious meal, was more than just amusing. It was bewildering and humbling and endearing and pure.

I hadn't realized how much the knot had loosened, until she caught me watching her and it tightened enough to affect my breathing. I glanced down at my food and took a bite of eggs, if only to give myself some kind of distraction.

Movement pulled my attention back up to her, mid-chew. She had rested her elbow on the table and was cradling her chin in the palm of her hand, not trying to hide her observation of me in the least.

"You didn't eat very much," she mused softly.

My eyes flitted down to her practically empty plate, then back up to her quizzical brow. Just how long had I been watching her?

I shrugged self-consciously, "I'm not really a breakfast person. Actually, it's a common misconception that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, when in reality lunch is where-"

"It's nearly noon. So, this is technically lunch," the concern in her voice was nearly palpable. It caused a warmth to fill my chest, instead of the usual shame that followed when someone cut me off during one of my informative monologues.

"Jet lag," I offered as an explanation, one corner of my mouth tilting up in what was supposed to be a comforting smile. "I'll get on the right schedule soon."

Her eyebrows dipped down and she glanced down as if in thought. When she looked back up at me, her chin no longer resting in her hand, her face wore her typical kind expression, but I could still see the worry in her eyes.

"Alright, if you say so. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen while I'm in class," she stood up, her empty plate in one hand and glass in the other. Then she gestured at my nearly-full plate and asked, "Are you finished?"

After a nod of my head, she whisked my plate and glass away, too. As she tossed the paper plates in the trash and carried the glasses to the sink, I tried to identify the warmth in my chest. She passed me on her way back to her room, shooting me a smile that intensified the warmth, in a pleasant way. I didn't have a word for it.

My entire life had been filled with words. I could recite any book, pamphlet, or magazine that I had ever read. I knew more facts that I could find a use for. My explanations were always regarded by my coworkers as lengthy and filled with an impressively obscure vocabulary.

Yet, when it came to Amelia I could never find the words.

It felt somehow refreshing. There was a sense of adventure in unravelling these mysteries she unknowingly gifted me. And an intimacy in the rarity of it. She was the only one who had this effect on me.

I realized that I had simply sat and watched her move about her room from the table. I stood, to give myself something else to do, but then I was still watching her just from a higher vantage point. She turned back to the bedroom door and I glanced down, scratching at a spot on my arm that didn't itch.

"I'm all ready," she announced in her joyful tone.

I turned to see her small frame dwarfed by a bright blue backpack that had definitely gotten some good use. There were a few rips and stains, as if this wasn't the first year she had used it.

"You don't think..." her voice was significantly lower in both pitch and tone as she trailed off. Her eyes were downcast and she blinked rapidly. A common way of fighting off tears.

"No," I said forcefully, causing her chin to jerk up. Her wide eyes had tears in them and she seemed startled. I softened my tone as I approached her, "No. I think you will be perfectly safe. You'll have friends around you at all times."

She swallowed hard as she nodded once, my thinly veiled double-meaning doing it's intended purpose and calming her. There would be an agent around her at all times. Nothing would happen to her. I wouldn't let it.

"I will walk you to class and come get you when you're done on campus, if that's okay," I offered, knowing full well that I'd follow her from a distance to ensure her safety if she said no.

"Thank you, Spence, I'd really appreciate that," her voice was still a little wobbly. She took a deep breath and then launched herself towards me, her arms wrapping around my torso.

I stumbled slightly as her small frame collided with my much taller one, but had no trouble righting myself. The trouble was the war between two sides of myself; one, wanting to cling to her as she clung to me in order to comfort her as much as I could, and the other that felt entirely suffocated by the sudden and overwhelming physical contact.

I heard a sniffle from where her head rested against my chest. And in that moment the first desire won out over the desire to pull away.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around her, one following the curve of her shoulders while the other hand cradled the back of her head. I could feel the pulse of her heartbeat beneath my thumb from where it rested on the side of her neck. It was so strangely intimate. To be so close to another human being, to be trusted enough to feel their life source. It was invigorating.

Another sniffle, followed by a deep sigh. Then her arms began to loosen around me. For a heartbeat or two, I was convinced that I was having a specified muscle contraction; even though I knew I should be letting go, my arms stayed locked around her. But then we were pulling apart.

With a small shrug, Amelia said, "I don't want to be late."

It sounded like she was explaining herself. I soaked in her body language and facial features, so I could examine them and try to figure out what this interaction meant later.

The hidden comm in my ear crackled to life for the first time since I put it in this morning, as someone's mic connected. A second later Morgan's laughter-filled voice was in my ear, "Yo, lover boy! You gonna actually take the girl to class or are you just planning on starring at her all day?"

I blinked hard, realizing that I _had_ been starring. My cheeks flamed. Looking at the closest hidden camera, I rolled my eyes. I heard Morgan's laugh accompanied by a softer, feminine one. Either Emily or JJ was on duty with him, then. The static cut out as the mic disconnected from my comm.

I cleared my throat in an effort to clear my mind. "So, you said you don't drive to campus, right?"

"Right," she said, shifting the weight of her backpack and heading towards the door. She reached out and grabbed the keys from the hook by the door, then waited for me to exit. As she closed and locked the door, she continued, "It's about the same distance to walk from here as it would be from the student lots. And parking passes are super expensive."

I walked on her right, just a step behind her, as she led the way.

"At least the view is nice," I commented as we passed a dumpster that reeked of beer and rotten food.

She laughed her musical laugh and I smiled against the awful smell.

"Should I hold your hand?" I asked, genuinely startled by the question. It was out before I had fully thought about asking it. She glanced over at me from the corner of her eyes, one side of her mouth quirked up. I began to panic.

This is why you think things through, Spencer. This is why you make plans and wait for signs and take time to process interactions, instead of barreling ahead and shoving your foot in your mouth.

Her fingers slipped between mine and squeezed tightly once.

"You don't have to ask for permission," she said brightly, wrapping her other hand in the crook of my elbow like last night. She used the hold to pull herself a little bit closer to me. "At least, not for that."

I tilted my head away from her to hide my smile.

But I wasn't quick enough, because she whispered conspiratorially, "I saw that, by the way."

I looked down to see her looking up at me. My cheeks started to flame, but I saw that hers were pink, too.

I shrugged and ignored her comment, going back to the earlier topic, "I didn't know if you were worried about your friends seeing. You haven't told them, yet, right?" Keeping to the character made it easier to hide my nervousness around her.

"True, but I'm not hiding it," she played along. "I just haven't seen them since we've made it official."

"So, if they saw us," I let my voice trail off in a questioning tone.

"Then I'd tell them!" Amelia exclaimed cheerfully. Then she used her hold on me to pull me down while simultaneously pulling herself up, giving her access to my cheek. Where she left a soft kiss.

One part of my brain registered how she pulled on me a little to keep herself upright as her heels thumped back down on the sidewalk after being up on tip-toe. The other part of my brain was erratically trying to comprehend the irregular beat of my heart and the light-headed feeling I was experiencing.

I cleared my throat once, in an attempt to stall while I thought of something to say. But once again, words evaded me. I cleared my throat a second time to fill the silence.

"Ames!" A feminine voice called out, saving me from my own awkwardness.

I turned to see a dark-haired girl about Amelia's age running across the street towards us. Her face was tight with worry. She didn't slow down as she approached us and right before she reached us, Amelia released her grip on me and opened her arms. She caught the dark-haired girl in her embrace and they both staggered at the impact.

"I was so worried!" The dark-hair girl muttered into Amelia's shoulder. She pulled back sharply and repeated somewhat angrily, "I was so worried."

"Worried?" Amelia echoed, her voice full of faux innocence.

"I saw police at your apartment complex and on the news, they said something about that serial killer that's been in the news a lot lately, they said he was at your apartment complex. The serial killer was. And I was so worried and I called and you didn't answer and the police wouldn't tell me anything," she rambled on without hardly stopping to breathe.

I had to admit, I admired her ability to monologue, but more importantly, I liked her concern for Amelia. I was strangely relieved that she had someone looking out for her and thinking about her safety.

"Oh, yeah. That," Amelia sighed out, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, yeah. That," her friend said incredulously. "That's all you have to say?"

"Of course not, I'm just-" Amelia sighed again and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her head while she searched for the right words.

Her friend followed the movement of her hand, which led her to making eye contact with me over Amelia's shoulder, where I was still awkwardly standing a few feet behind her.

"Woah, wait," her friend said in a lower volume. "Who's he?"

Amelia followed her friend's stare and met my eyes. I saw the exhaustion in them and her complete lack of desire to retell last night to her friend. A lot of times, people needed weeks to process what they had been through before they could fully transition back to normal life and be able to talk about what happened. Poor Amelia had barely had about 12 hours.

I stepped forward until I was next to Amelia. "I'm Spencer. Spencer Reid."

I was terrified her friend was going to try to shake my hand, but instead she raised one eyebrow at Amelia and smiled conspiratorially.

"Who's he to you?" She asked more pointedly.

"This," Amelia said, glancing up at me as she fitted her hand in mine. "Is my boyfriend. Spencer, this is Melina."

Her friend's smile grew wider and much more genuinely happy.

"Is he why you didn't answer my call last night?" She giggled. Then she turned to me and said with a small wave, "Nice to meet you by the way."

I was very relieved she opted for a wave and shot one back.

"It's actually a super long story," Amelia said and her shoulders kind of sagged at the weight of her words.

"But," I chimed in as I glanced at my watch. "Your class starts in 10 minutes."

"Saved by the bell," Melina said with a small laugh. All of her earlier anger had disappeared within seconds and she sounded like the happiest and most carefree person I had ever met. "You owe me a phone call."

"And a coffee," Amelia added, much to her friend's delight apparently; Melina clenched one fist together in a small gesture of victory. Amelia laughed softly, "Alright, I'll see you later."

She nodded once in acknowledgment, "Bye, Ames. Nice to meet you, Spencer."

"Nice to meet you, too," I responded before she darted back across the street. Amelia began walking in our original direction and I followed suit. "Well, she's energetic."

Amelia laughed her musical laugh that I enjoyed so very much. Maybe too much.

"That's a good word for her," she hummed in approval. "Mel is my best friend in the whole world. I met her my freshman year as an undergrad and we've stayed in touch ever since. We had one class together our first semester, that's how we met. And we've just always made sure to reach out and meet up every now and then. Plus, we text and snapchat every day."

I waited a beat, trying to decide if I should ask her the two questions I had bouncing around in my head. And more importantly, which one to ask first.

"So, you're going to meet up with her," I let my voice trail off for a second. "Are you going to tell her the truth about last night?"

I heard Amelia take in a large breath and looked down to see her eyebrows furrowed. She chewed worriedly at her lip.

"Yes," she finally responded in an exhale, looking up at me for a second and then looking straight ahead again.

I followed suit. I didn't want to pry and I certainly didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable by looking at her too much. Morgan had already called me out for starring too much earlier.

"I tell her everything," she continued after a few seconds in silence. "And I think it will help to talk about it with someone I'm close to, ya know? Not that I'm not close to you, I didn't mean it like that. Just that we only recently made things official and she's been in my life so long that I really feel like she knows me and she understands me. It will just make me feel better to know that somebody else knows what's going on. I decided I'm not going to tell my parents until they catch the guy, because I don't want them freaking out and flying out here or trying to get me to fly back home. So, she's really the only support system I can have in this, besides you. And you shouldn't have to carry the burden of being my only support."

I hadn't heard her talk so much, but I appreciated the brain dump. On the one hand, it helped me understand more of what she was thinking, since she could be so hard to read at times. And on the other hand, it made me feel like we had something in common.

"I don't mind being your support. In fact, I quite like it," I said, rather courageously. Emboldened by the growing smile on her face, I continued, "I'm honored, really."

She giggled softly and leaned her head against my arm for a moment. It felt almost like a thank you.

I couldn't help the smile that took over my face. I didn't smile often, but I smiled a lot around Amelia. By my count, 11 times in the 12 or so hours that I had known her.

My smile faded when she informed me that we were almost at her class. I was overcome with anxiety about our goodbye. I didn't know if I should hug her or if she wouldn't want anyone to see us together. My stomach felt sick.

She used her hand in mine to pull me to a stop next to a wall, out of the pathway of other students in the hall and my anxiety grew.

"This is me," she said, tilting her head toward the door a few feet away from us. "Thank you for walking me. I felt infinitely safer and more comfortable with you by my side."

My heart stuttered. I couldn't tell if her words were the genuine truth or a part of the cover. I found myself desperately wanting it to be the former. So, I decided then and there to believe it. To buy the cover, even though I knew it was fake. Morgan had suggested that I take full advantage of the opportunity, so I made a promise to myself to do so. To believe her words and actions to be indicative of her true feelings and to act on my own true feelings.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, the weight of her backpack settling on my arms awkwardly. She let out a small, "Oh," but quickly wrapped her arms around my neck. Her arms tightened as she lifted herself enough to press her body to mine. She began to loosen her hold and I followed suit, but before she pulled away completely, she kissed me on the cheek once again.

This one lasted significantly longer and felt charged somehow. She landed back on her heels and gazed up into my eyes for a few seconds.

Then she gave me a small smile, touched her palm lightly to my cheek and reverently whispered, "Thank you."

Before I could form a coherent sentence, she waved and whisked away to the door she had motioned to earlier. Our eyes met as she opened the door and I think I managed a smile, but then she was gone.

I stood there for a few more seconds, memorizing the exchange to analyze later. I realized that I had done that quite frequently with my interactions with Amelia. I kept telling myself to remember the details so I could figure out the meaning behind her actions later, but I hadn't analyzed a single interaction, yet. With her in class, though, I now had the time to do so.

Maybe I could call Morgan and ask his opinion on some things.

I shook my head with a smile. He would never let me live that down, but that didn't stop me from pulling my phone out and selecting his contact as I started the walk back to Amelia's apartment.


End file.
